Eight minutes have elapsed
since sunbeams,
visible on outer leaves,
glancing off the surfaces
of hillcrests, eaves and balconies,
doodling where shadows fall
as silhouettes of trees on walls,
first left the fiery photosphere
ninety million miles from here.
In that time I've fed three felines,
monitored my mental state,
sipped coffee, set priorities
and wished upon the waning moon,
pretending to ignore those strays,
hope and happenstance and gloom.
It took the same pellucid rays
flooding all I contemplate
millennia to travel through the plasma
from sun's seething core,
and then only eight minutes
to migrate to cooler planet Earth
and pass through every living being,
warming also the inert,
a cosmic puppy whose hot tongue
licks everything, loves everyone.
The greatest voyagers of all
are thought and light and energy.
Eight Minutes
© Copyright: Jena Woodhouse, 2005
Свидетельство о публикации №105061100376
Свидетельство о публикации №105061100376
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